Rifferella
by Elf Asato
Summary: A nice little fairytale AU of Cinderella ;) incomplete
1. The Quest to Remove the Proverbial Stick

  
  


**Rifferella**  
By Elf Asato

  
  


In the prime of spring, Hyde Park was a crowded and busy, but peaceful nonetheless, social gathering for all ages. The elderly came to enjoy the heavenly scent of the roses and what could be their last spring while the young came in groups to socialize and peek their heads out into society for the first time. The roses were the main attraction on that fair spring day, and nearly everybody who was anybody, so to say, was there enjoying it. Occupying a park bench were two young women, maids from their attire, intensely engaged in gossip.  
  
"...And also, Agnes heard from her friend Shelley that the late duke's eldest son has arrived from India to take over his father's title and estate. She was recently hired to the household, I think."  
  
"You don't say? What was he doing over there in India, anyway?"  
  
"Ah...I think Agnes said that he was helping with the colonization --"  
  
"Figures. Like my Charles, all the men are over there away from the women -- and what for? Teaching those barbarians how to eat like civilized human beings!"  
  
"Er, that may be a bit over the top, Carrie... Remember, your brother is over there servicing our queen; they'll bring him home eventually."  
  
"You've been telling me that for the last seven years, Beatrice."  
  
"Well...these things take awhile... Anyway, the new Duke Acheson has practically replaced half the household staff with newly hired employees along with his own personal attendants from his time in India."  
  
"You mean he has Indians working for him? I daresay, can they at least speak English?"  
  
"Ah...I'm not sure about that, honestly. I think Shelley would have mentioned something like that to Agnes, though, if it were true. He took a handful of his father's staff with him to India, I know, so he probably brought them back as well."  
  
"Oh! To be a servant at the Acheson estate at that time, taken away to some far off and foreign destination... How romantic; it's almost like something in a storybook! Oh, what I would give to at least _hear_ of the adventures they must have had!"  
  
"Yes, I can only imagine what tales we would hear! Perhaps I should ask Agnes to ask Shelley..."  
  
"Oh Beatrice, you must!"  
  
Admiring a particular rosebush adjacent to the park bench where Carrie and Beatrice sat were two men, both dressed somewhat formally for an outing. The shorter of the two, having a distinguished stature, mused with amusement, "Do you think those lovely young ladies would enjoying hearing of the time when we happened to find ourselves stuck on an elephant trail?"  
  
"I'm sure they would delight in it, my lord, but they are no more than servants and I cannot allow for you to lower yourself to that," the taller man spoke up, apparently the other's personal attendant.  
  
The distinguished of the two nearly scowled at his attendant, his blue eyes narrowing in mock annoyance. "I'm growing bored of these roses and my leg is bothering me. Come along, Riff, we're going back home."  
  
"As you wish, sir," Riff answered, trailing behind his master like someone of his position should.  
  


***

  
"Welcome back, your lordship," the footman greeted once his master and the house butler arrived in the comfort of their own dwelling, only giving Riff a tiny but respectful nod of acknowledgement. "I trust you had a nice time at the park, sir?"  
  
The master of the house gave a short but gleeful nod and answered, "Oh yes, we did indeed. I had forgotten how heavenly the roses smell in the spring here. Come Thursday you all really must go over, even just for the magnificent scent."  
  
"Duly noted, sir," the footman replied as a petite household maid swiftly made her way into the main hall to greet them, her shoes click-clacking with every step she took.  
  
The maid, one of the youngest newly hired employees, stopped before them. "Duke Acheson," she alerted softly with a nod, "Dr. Disraeli wishes to see you, sir."  
  
Like a much younger boy, Duke Acheson rolled his eyes and groaned, but to those who knew him well, he was frequently less annoyed than he tried to act. "Jezebel again? I swear that man has a sixth sense; he has this annoying habit of always knowing just when my leg bothers me..."  
  
"Perhaps that's to your advantage, sir," Riff spoke up, but when his master turned around and gave him a mock glare, he simply smiled serenely and added, "Dr. Disraeli becomes quite temperamental when you keep him waiting, sir, as you'll recall the episode from a few days before."  
  
The duke clicked his tongue and turned on his heel, following the young maid down a hall wordlessly. Once their unequal footsteps eventually reverberated into silence, the footman fully acknowledged Riff and asked curiously, "Didn't make too much trouble over at Hyde, did he?"  
  
Shaking his head, Riff explained with a subtle gleam in his eyes, "Not really, but I made sure his chances were limited. If he had it his way, he would have made quite the spectacle of himself."  
  
"Yes," the footman mused as the two of them began walking down another hall. He looked away, keeping his eyes from Riff as he continued with an odd sort of inflection in his voice, "If he had it _his_ way, we would all still be in India..."  
  
"Right so, and a good thing we are _not_; he would never have a chance at his title or this estate otherwise, Ron," Riff replied quickly with a hint of an edge in his voice as he looked over to the footman, vaguely irritated.  
  
Ron stopped walking and sighed, "I know you had the best intentions in mind for him when you forced him up here to claim his inheritance, but surely _you_ of all people can see how unhappy he is here in domestic life. London fails to suit him while India does the job so perfectly."  
  
For a few moments Riff was silent as he turned away and stared at the obviously expensive floor, completely motionless; then he broke the uncomfortable silence between them by replying in a soft but deadpan tone, "We are going to _like_ it here, whether we want to or not, because we are _staying_."  
  
"But Riff--" Ron protested, but the butler cut him off with a cold and decisive inflection.  
  
"We are _staying_, Ron, and you might as well inform anyone who may think otherwise of this fact; there is to be no further discussion on this matter, and if I catch anyone talking about it, their pay will be docked."  
  
Realizing he had hit a nerve, the footman muttered, "Yes, sir," and went off to attend to his normal duties, leaving Riff alone in the hall to mull over guiltily about the very matter he had closed.  
  


***

  
Duke Acheson sat on the balcony overlooking the green, rolling countryside in a comfortable leather chair that he remembered being his favorite as a child.  
  
Or rather, _Riff_ remembered it that way.  
  
Acheson, not too interested in details, wouldn't notice or even _care_ if a chair dated back a hundred years ago or was bought newly yesterday. He personally believed that there were more important things to life than what color the drapes were on Friday; a trait that considerably disturbed his trusted butler and friend.  
  
Almost like a foil, he and Riff.  
  
But no matter the differences between them, the two had remained childhood friends despite Acheson's carefree attitude and Riff's insistence on order, among many more light-hearted...and serious differences.  
  
When they were children, the most serious difference of all was the fact that Dudley Acheson was the only son of an influential duke, while Riff was merely the son of a servant. A traditionalist by nature, the duke refused to allow his son any contact with commoners of no wealth or status. In spite of all that, Acheson found his way to the son of a servant anyway and the two quickly became good friends. Although quite reckless, he at least had the sense to keep the friendship a secret from the elder duke, which Riff fully began to appreciate when he followed his father's footsteps and became a servant to the household.  
  
At his side Riff stood, watching the birds chase each other across the sky but not fully _seeing_ them. His mind was off somewhere far away, thinking back to his conversation with Ron, how everyone took the news that they would be returning to London practically a year before, his childhood hopes and dreams... The duke was placid at the time, staring off, perhaps thinking of his own worries for the day; it was a perfect time for reflection.  
  
Breaking his gaze from the dreary sky, Riff turned his attention to his lord and master, the conversation he had with the footman replaying in his mind:_"Surely _you_ of all people can see how unhappy he is here in domestic life."_  
  
But was he really as unhappy as Ron said he was?  
  
Since it happened, Riff had asked himself that countless times, and each time he never quite believed it when he told himself that of _course_ Duke Acheson was happy. Why wouldn't he be? He had plenty of money, a title, an estate, loyal servants...what more could he ask for?  
  
But there was something that bothered Riff. No, it wasn't about his master; it was about _himself_.  
  
Riff regretted the fact that he was unable to continue on this train of thought due to a disturbance in the room directly behind them: _Jezebel_.  
  
"Dudley Acheson, I can see you from here," Jezebel's authoritative and scolding voice carried out onto the balcony as the doctor himself rushed to follow, "and your leg is _not_ propped up like I had instructed!" As Acheson fumbled for an excuse, the doctor rounded on Riff and further inquired sharply, "And why have my instructions gone unheeded?"  
  
Glancing at the duke, Riff saw that he resembled a child caught in the act of stealing a pastry. He had to smile, but to avoid the wrath of Jezebel he did so _very_ faintly. "I...was not aware of any instructions you might have given him. The master failed to inform me."  
  
Jezebel sighed in exasperation and gave Acheson the most piercing look he could muster. "Perhaps this injury of yours will remind you to be more careful with what you do."  
  
"Exactly," Riff added to the doctor's pleasure. "Falling into a ditch is hardly something that is expected to befall a gentleman of your stature and qualifications."  
  
With a certain smugness, Jezebel recalled, "I seem to remember us all laughing very hard at you when that happened..."  
  
Duke Dudley Acheson tried to scowl and prevent his dignity from being further lost, but in the company of his two most trusted and familiar associates, it didn't quite have the effect that he intended; Jezebel and Riff began to reminisce of Acheson's various follies while in India, including the ditch-falling incident along with the attempt to tame a monkey gone awry. The duke endured this torture for a minute or two before the three of them were interrupted by knock in the inner room.  
  
Falling back into his role as servant, Riff disappeared to answer the door; Jezebel, in turn, acted as physician again and saw to it that his master's leg was propped up suitably. Returning shortly after, the butler presented the duke with a pristine letter adorned with a fancy and grand seal.  
  
"A messenger boy brought this invitation to you, sir, from the royal family," Riff explained as he tried to pass it to his master.  
  
Acheson, though, simply pushed the invitation away and said, "I'm in no mood to read letters and words, Riff. Tell me what it says." With that, he leaned back comfortably in his chair and looked to his butler like a child does while having a story read to them.  
  
Though Riff had never officially confirmed it, he had the sneaking suspicion that his master wasn't at all fluent in the written word, if his struggle in his studies as an adolescent was the first clue. Of course, it was the complete opposite with the young butler. Even though Acheson's father would have thrown a fit if he knew, Riff had always helped his friend with his studies in addition to teaching himself. And so even as he became the duke's trusted butler, he continued to aid him.  
  
Clearing his throat slightly, Riff opened the letter and skimmed through it briefly rather than reading its entire contents aloud, avoiding the flowery and unnecessary language used by aristocrats so often to make themselves sound more important than they actually were. The butler mused inwardly that _that_ was the more probable reason in his master's reading difficulties. "The king is holding a ball for all the esteemed to attend, and you, sir, are invited," Riff summarized, wading through quite unnecessary details as even he struggled to grasp at a meaning.  
  
"Oh bother," the duke grumbled as he crossed his arms, looking like a much younger boy. "A ball. When is the bloody thing?"  
  
Riff gave the letter another quick glance to see if he had missed any details, and replied, "This coming Friday evening, sir. ...Do you not wish to go?"  
  
Acheson's face contorted in mock disgust as he eyed his servant. "_No_. Now _why_, pray tell, would I want to go to a social gathering and mingle with haughty aristocrats? That was my _father's_ crowd, Riff, not mine."  
  
"But as the new Duke of Acheson, my lord, it is your responsibility to keep up your social appearance," Riff replied delicately, looking to the silent doctor for support; Jezebel, however, was lost gazing at the green rolling hills the balcony view provided.  
  
_Acting_ like a much younger boy, Acheson stuck out his tongue rather bitterly at Riff and blew raspberry. He stopped shortly, though, after receiving an irksome expression from the servant and his eyes wandered off somewhere distant. "Father used to go on and on about social responsibility, how it was _your_ duty ensure that _they_ thought the highest of you...and my mother always said that you had to keep up appearances and look beyond your best for the world. Those two were always so preoccupied with what everyone else thought of them that they had little time for anything else..." Duke Acheson tilted his head slightly towards Riff and gazed at him with his eyes sharply in focus. "I refuse to live like that, Riff."  
  
Riff was torn between happiness and propriety for his master. As a servant, he _had_ to accept his master's judgment no matter how much he disagreed; but then again his master's judgment had proven to be quite faulty in the past and as the new Duke of Acheson, he _had_ to live that life. "...My lord...in the letter, the royal family blatantly expresses their wishes to see you...since you've spent so much time in India...and..." The tone Riff had meant was dutiful and subtly persuasive, but what came out was different - strained and desperate.  
  
The silence that followed grew increasingly uncomfortable as the duke sat in his chair, gazing up pensively at the servant, while Jezebel looked Riff's faint agitation over in amusement with a lazy smirk illuminating his stark expression.  
  
More so than the sound of his voice breaking the silence, Acheson's words startled Riff: "Why don't _you_ go in my place?"  
  
This was suitable enough to break Jezebel of his muted expressions. "_What?_ Why _him?_"  
  
"Honestly," Acheson explained in a mock-exasperated tone, "who _else_ is as stuffy and proper as our Riff here? He's likely to better act an aristocrat than I would."  
  
"S-sir, I'm flattered, but," Riff stammered as he flushed pink, "I cannot accept your offer. It wouldn't be right for a mere _servant_ to attend a function meant for his master."  
  
"Do you see?!" the duke cried out to his doctor, raising his hands for emphasis. "He's more prim and proper than a sweet virgin girl!" Duke Acheson burst out into a light laughter as Jezebel smirked furtively, side glancing at Riff in a most mischievous manner.  
  
And at this, of course, the hue in Riff's cheeks deepened. "I'm serious, my lord," Riff stated again firmly, his tone indicating absolute certainty, "I can_not_ attend in your place as you wish!"  
  
Acheson's merry laughter subsided as Riff spoke and he eventually resumed his childish pose of crossing his arms and looking utmost put out. "Oh fine, then. If it'll make you happy I'll go to this bloody ball..." At Riff's most gracious expression, the duke then added, "But if you ever change your mind, Riff..."  
  
"...And I assure you that I won't, my lord," Riff stated softly, a twinkle in his eye of what one might call _pride_, "but might I say that hopefully this will lead you to realize that you really _must_ take your duties as the new Duke of Acheson seriously."  
  
"Yes, yes, of course," he replied quickly in an offhand manner that included eye rolling. Fortunately for him, Riff did not see that particular gesture. With a yawn he concluded as he took Jezebel's arm, "Well all this talk of extravagance has tired me, so Dr. Disraeli, if you'd be so kind to escort me to my chambers... Bad leg, you know. And what say you notify the royal family that a one Duke Dudley Acheson will be attending their much-esteemed ball, Mr. Raffit? I'd be very much obliged."  
  
"As you wish it, sir," Riff murmured with a slight cock of the eyebrow at what seemed to be a mighty tone of sarcasm in his master's voice. As a dutiful servant, though, he said nothing.  


**End Part One**

  
Written: June - September '03  
Words: 2975 


	2. A Little Bit of Morphine Goes a Long Way

  
  
**A/N**: Ack, sorry for my lateness! Six months...but you'll forgive me, right? With this I tried to drawn out the different personalities and interactions as well as provide a base for the real plotline to swing through... Well, enjoy!  
  
  
  
Thursday was always the day when the servants would have half the day off. Not all at the same time, though, of course; the house would be in complete disarray if that was the case. Rather, half the staff had the morning off and went to work in the afternoon, when the other staff half would have _their_ turn at freedom. Of course, they all vied for having their afternoons free, so scheduling their times off was a difficult and frustrating task.  
  
Naturally it was Riff who did it.  
  
Through the week he would file the various requests and by Wednesday evening he would post a list of everyone's times in the servant's quarters. It was an efficient system to everyone but Riff who absolutely dreaded Thursdays; he also rarely scheduled a time off for _himself_. There was always a servant or two disgruntled at the fact that their requests were not met and Riff hated dealing with that. He knew you couldn't please everyone and he felt there was no sense in even trying, but on Thursdays he always felt rather on edge.  
  
It was Thursday.  
  
Riff was edgy.  
  
Already with nerves shot, the pedantic butler was in no state that morning to deal with anyone, much less Jezebel. Of course, it shouldn't have been to anyone's surprise that the estate doctor was there to harass him on his worst day of the week. He always _was_ after all.  
  
"After scheduling me for an afternoon, I'm rather surprised that you didn't take this morning off for yourself," Jezebel mentioned in passing as he approached Riff rather meaningfully in the hall. Though his tone faked conversational, Riff knew that Jezebel never said anything for the hell of it; he had had the unfortunate opportunity over the past years to underestimate and dismiss enough of the doctor's words to know that to do so would be a mistake.  
  
Naturally, Riff hated making mistakes.  
  
"Yes, yes, what is it that you want?" the butler asked shortly, opting for getting straight to the point today instead of beating around the bush in hopes that the doctor would just give up and leave him alone.  
  
Riff didn't know why he ever did that; he never got his way.  
  
Jezebel simply materialized a slightly wrinkled note from his crisp and clean jacket. Attempts had been made to smooth the piece of paper out, but it obviously didn't work. "The master requested that I give this to you..."  
  
When the Duke of Acheson ever wrote letters or notes of any kind, it was always with the utmost uniqueness. Any of the countless noble men of his status or even lower would have written with graceful eloquence, but not the duke; his notes were entirely different.  
  
As Riff took the scrap of rumpled paper off Jezebel with his slender fingers he unfolded it to read the short message hastily scrawled with a leaky pen. It only took a few seconds to rapidly read and process it all, and it was apparent to Jezebel when he had done so for a fine and pale eyebrow arched from its place in what was characteristic as irritation.  
  
Jezebel let out a mirthful chuckle and mused, "Any _normal_ man, Riff, would be all too pleased to receive a note like that from his superior..."  
  
It was then that Riff took the opportunity to read the message aloud:  
  
  
_Riff  
  
You are a cranky terrier. Go away.  
  
Dudley_  
  
  
As the doctor's chuckling increased, Riff reiterated curtly, "...Cranky terrier. Go away," which only served to fuel Jezebel's glee further.  
  
Running his fingers through his wavy hair with that unusual smile still plastered on his face, Jezebel commented as he attempted to stifle himself, "I must say, Riff, that it's not every day you get a message like that, eh?"  
  
"Not at all, if you're lucky," the butler murmured as he neatly folded the paper and stuck it inside his breast pocket. "And what would that ridiculous note translate to in the master's incomprehensible language?"  
  
Jezebel's smile turned almost smug as he looked Riff squarely and answered, "He wants you to have some time to yourself and take the morning off to go to town like the rest of the servants." When the other man opened his mouth to protest, as it was anticipated he would do, Jezebel continued, "It _is_ an order from the Duke of Acheson, after all. It wouldn't be professional to refuse."  
  
That was logic Riff never felt comfortable arguing with, but it never hurt to try. "I wouldn't be able to enjoy the town fully with this blinding headache I have, so it would be better if I skipped going to stay here and --"  
  
Definitely the wrong thing to say to a _doctor_.  
  
"Headache?" Jezebel asked in sadistic exaggeration as he pointedly grabbed the extraordinarily reluctant Riff and near dragged him down the hall. "Why, we can clear that up in no time, and you'll be able to go with the rest of the servants..." He opened a familiar door to the pantry and dragged Riff in with him. "I believe I have something to cure that headache of yours..."  
  
Riff immediately protested verbally for the first time. "Oh...no, no, don't waste your materials on me; I'll just --"  
  
"Nonsense! You _must_ get out of the house, Riff. Here, take some morphine and --"  
  
"_Morphine_? No, ah...I think my headache's gone. See? I'm all better now, so I'll just -- mmph!"  
  
Needless to say, the doctor was quite determined.  
  


***

  
As Riff walked down a normally busy and prosperous path in London, he held his head delicately and groped along the walls of the buildings he passed for support. To onlookers it appeared as if he were merely some drunkard, and so no one thought to stop to check on him. In reality, though, the fact was that Riff had a horrible headache and was, in truth, quite nauseas...most likely from the bit of morphine the good doctor had administered. Such drugs seemed to have a rather adverse effect on him...  
  
He had crept alongside so many buildings that Riff hardly had any idea of where he was anymore - a sad fact, and perhaps an indication of how poorly he felt, considering he had grown up in the very area. Struggling with himself to simply remain upright and conscious, he barely noticed the idle stranger lingering against a brick wall until he had in fact bumped right into him.  
  
Even in times of extreme discomfort, as Riff was obviously experiencing, the Duke's butler still had the innate reflexes to apologize profusely to the stranger. "My sincere apologies, kind sir," he went on, bowing to display his lower status. "I had no right of unintentionally bumping into you like that, sir, and I'd just like to--"  
  
It was an obvious mistake to bow like that in Riff's disoriented condition.  
  
"Are you alright?" the stranger asked in concern, already taken aback, as he had to catch the butler before he fell embarrassingly to the ground. "You look quite ill... Shall I fetch a doctor?"  
  
"Ah..." Riff murmured as he clutched his head and shut his eyes tightly. It was one of the many times he would regret ever lying to Jezebel; an event the doctor always made sure he _paid_ for... "I'm alright...I just need to...ah...rest for a little bit..."  
  
Leaning the butler against the cool brick wall, the stranger stayed beside him and asked softly, so as not to cause Riff even more discomfort, "Are you sick, sir?"  
  
"N-no," Riff answered swiftly with closed eyes as he leaned his head against the wall. "It's just... Well, I didn't exactly want to go out today, but a friend insisted on it. I tried to get out of it by telling him I had a headache, but, well...he happens to be a doctor and a terribly willful one at that..."  
  
At Riff's brief story, the stranger emitted a soft chuckle and mused, "Not to offend, but he doesn't exactly sound like the _ideal_ friend."  
  
"Well you're absolutely right, he's _not_," the butler agreed quickly with a short laugh. His eyes fluttered open, but then resumed their closed position, like an after-thought. "I'm the butler now of Duke Acheson's estate, but while we were in India he, my master's physician, would give me these absolutely awful herbal and medicinal concoctions that left me feeling worse than I had started out with. ...Of course, not to say that I never did anything deserving of his wrath, but...I don't suppose anyone deserves a scorpion in their boots, do they?"  
  
"Depends on what you did, I suppose," the stranger said at the tail end of his chuckling. With the same mirth, he continued, "That sounds rather awful, though."  
  
"It _was_," Riff murmured, "though, I have to admit, he's gotten much better since coming back to England. Hardly any huge and godforsaken insects to torment me with here, right? ...Though...he finds ways... They all do, it seems."  
  
As Riff sighed, the stranger asked, "What do you mean?"  
  
"Oh...it's a rather boring story with the master's inheritance and all, but the bottom line is that we are here instead of in India, and the staff perceives it as my fault. Though I have no idea _why_...they rather enjoyed it there. Even Master Acheson... Believe it or not, he actually wanted me to go to the royal family's ball this Friday in his place since he doesn't want to go... That's absolutely absurd, though, isn't it? A mere steward going in place of his master?"  
  
With a shrug that the 'mere steward' never saw, the stranger replied, "Oh...I don't know... Sounds like a wonderful opportunity, does it not? And since your master gave you permission and actually requests it..._I_ rather think you should go."  
  
"R-really?" Riff muttered in surprise as he opened his eyes slightly; he kept them down, however, to shield from the bright, yet oppressive, morning sun. "You...honestly think a lowly servant such as me should go to a ball where all sorts of high nobles...and even the queen will be in attendance?"  
  
"It's what one would call...the opportunity of a lifetime. I happen to know of a person - a very fine nobleman - who, like you, isn't quite sure he wants to go. I think, though, that he could be persuaded to attend if I told him about you. I've known him for a while so I have an idea...of who would and would not please him, and I think you very well could be the one he's looking for..." the stranger said softly with subtle nuances imbedded deeply in his voice.  
  
Whether it was all color draining from his face or leaping into it, Riff couldn't tell as he brought his eyes up to stare at the strange man for the first time, "W-what are y--"  
  
"I have a gift for knowing...these things, after all," the stranger continued with a sly and secretive smile.  
  
With a wave of his hand, Riff shook his head and said dismissively, "This has honestly got to be some strange dream... I mean, _look_ at you, you look like a fairy!"  
  
In his rather eccentric garb, the strange man did, in fact, look like a supernatural creature of sorts. "Well, then," he said as he edged closer to Riff, "perhaps I'm your fairy godfather..."  
  
"Perhaps you're ridiculous," Riff muttered as he clutched at the wall, obviously flustered.  
  
A smile gracing his features, the stranger agreed mirthfully as he extended his hand, "Perhaps. I'm Dominique Clehadol, a spiritual medium. You'll have to forgive my...odd dress, as I was just on my way home from an exorcism."  
  
"Ah..." Riff said as his cheeks reddened in mild embarrassment. "Please forgive my rudeness, sir. I'm a servant of Duke Dudley Acheson's, sir, Rifel Raffit..."  
  
"Save it for a noble, Mr. Raffit," Clehadol advised with another odd smile. "As spiritual advice, I advise you to heavily reconsider your decision to _not_ attend the royal ball. After all...as a medium, I have a gift for knowing these things..." Just as it seemed the servant would respond, though, Clehadol put a hand on Riff's shoulder as he walked off, "_Adieu_."  
  
Headache seemingly gone, Riff stared after the medium until he had long been gone out of sight. "...What a mysterious person," he muttered softly. Though, like with most things he couldn't actively _see_, he wasn't quite sure he liked 'mysterious.'  
  


***

  
Riff had no trouble arriving back at the estate; his headache was gone, and aside from the usual weariness of Thursdays, he felt just fine. Trouble only came once he was _on_ the estate premises.  
  
Trouble that went by the name of Dr. Jezebel Disraeli.  
  
"My darling Riff, how was your much-needed outing into the city? You've arrived a little earlier than expected...and I _trust_ that it's not due to illness. After all, perhaps that dosage of morphine I gave you wasn't _strong_ enough..." the doctor said, immediately accosting the butler with a noticeable smirk on his fine features.  
  
"No, no, it was fine," Riff replied quickly as he attempted to give his 'friend' the least satisfaction he could. "Wonderful day out, in fact. It was simply the calling of duty that brought me back so early..." He picked up his pace as he walked down a long hallway, intent on seeing Master Acheson. To his dismay, though, Jezebel was easily able to keep up alongside him.  
  
Almost challengingly, Jezebel remarked, "Well isn't that nice, selflessly putting duty before your own personal interests... Exactly as someone so competent as yourself should do, am I right? All work and no play makes Jack...ah...have more pay."  
  
Riff rolled his eyes as he corrected with a spark in his eyes, "My friend, I do believe you are mistaken, for it is _All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy_..."  
  
"Mm, Jack is very dull indeed, in that case," the doctor muttered absently, his eyes showing much more than he would have liked; they were like glass windows to his mind, the turning gears clearly visible.  
  
Growing uneasy as Jezebel continued to follow as he made a sharp left into another hallway, Riff decided to simply be frank with him, favoring blunt clarity to vague misinterpretations on this occasion. "I hardly think I have the time for this, Jezebel, so tell me right now what you're _getting_ at."  
  
"What I'm _getting_ at?" he repeated as he abruptly ceased movement, briefly unnerving Riff as the butler chose to stop and face him.  
  
Nodding, Riff replied, "Yes," as he took a step or two towards the other.  
  
Riff honestly didn't know why he expected anything more than the extreme blunt end from Jezebel; it never happened, anyway.  
  
"I want to go in place of Dudley to the ball."  
  
Perhaps it was because of the absolute glare of repulsion he received from Riff for wasting his time, but he honored the steward by explaining, "There will be many influential persons in attendance including the king's own royal physician of whom I'm very eager to be acquainted with, but although you've already refused, Dudley still has his heart set on _you_ going in his place. This morning he talked very extensively on various plans he has concocted to try to persuade you to go, and quite frankly it unnerves me...because I don't know you."  
  
"What do you _mean_ you don't _know_ me?" Riff said hastily in a sharp tone, as a warning to the doctor to embrace logic once again. "We've served Master Acheson side by side for countless years - shared many laughs and arguments - so what do you _mean_ you don't know me?"  
  
Jezebel simply shrugged and responded with an intuitive flicker in his otherwise cold eyes, "I know you well enough to know that I don't know you. You do things you don't want to simply because you should, but I see how you frustrated you become sometimes; I see those little inconsistencies in your behavior. They lead to something deeper. They want something more."  
  
Flushing, Riff faltered and barked, "They want some peace, quiet, and order - that's what they want..."  
  
"I think they want something that it's not proper to have..." Jezebel muttered, perhaps hinting at something grander, Riff couldn't tell. It was often difficult to tell such things with the good doctor.  
  
Turning heel, Riff's back faced the other as he said, almost haughtily as he stood straightly, "_Well_, it seems you know me fairly well then."  
  
With that he began to walk away, but Jezebel was undeterred. Following him, he remarked, in contradiction to his earlier statement, "That I do, and I have an inkling that you rather _could_ be easily persuaded to go...if you haven't been already."  
  
"So what," the steward began with a harried sigh, "you're trying to persuade me _not_ to go, even when I've already stated that I wouldn't?" Outwardly, he hoped that his nuances would persuade Jezebel to think that he was beating a dead horse, but inwardly, he figured that, well, the doctor was actually right about him. In reality Riff knew that it was inappropriate for him to take his master's place at the royal ball, but yes...he did, in fact, want to go. That nagging feeling of unexplored adventure had awakened upon meeting that mysterious medium, feeding on subtle hints and hidden desires. It would be a lie to say that he did not _want_ to go, and it would also be a lie to say that he was not going to go to his master with news of his sudden change of mind.  
  
As Riff reached the closed door leading to the master's study, Jezebel shot a hand out to grasp the fabric of the butler's sleeve, halting him with a start. "No," he simply answered, the dawning realization, only clear to one so sensitive to all things minute, painted beautifully in his eyes, "I'm trying to persuade you not to go _because_ you do. You're an awful liar, Riff, to yourself and others."  
  
Stiffly, the other murmured as he gently tried to free himself, put on edge by the doctor's words, "So are you."  
  
Searching his face to confirm this hint he had been given, Jezebel caught a glimpse of something in Riff's eye and reluctantly let go of the sleeve, stating more than asking, "So you really are going to walk in there and tell Dudley that you'll take his place at the ball? Even when I offer myself to go in his stead?"  
  
With a sigh, Riff admitted, "Yes."  
  
"Because..."  
  
"Yes," he repeated.  
  
The two men exchanged glances before Jezebel broke out into a lazy, conspiratorial smile and said, "Your little inconsistencies...surprise me...but I doubt _he'll_ read too much into them in his excitement over what you wish to say. ...Of course, assuming you have the opportunity to say it."  
  
Mentally, Riff kicked himself for even thinking the slightest bit that Jezebel would make things easy on him. He remarked, almost as if in a challenge, "I'd like to see you try and stop me."  
  
"Then just _watch_," Jezebel smirked as the two of them reached for the door handle, pushing the door leading to the study wide open in the progress.  
  
Duke Dudley Acheson, startled by the sudden intrusion, looked up from toying with a spinning globe at his two close friends and employees, struggling as they attempted to prevent each other from getting his attention...which they obviously already had.  
  
"Master Acheson!" the butler announced, with Jezebel's clear voice trailing behind him by only a little. "I wish to inform you that--"  
  
"Don't listen to him," Jezebel interrupted swiftly as he tried to push Riff away. "He doesn't want to go, remember? Instead--"  
  
Undeterred, Riff continued, "--that I have reconsidered your offer and--"  
  
"--let _me_ go--"  
  
"--I would like very much to go--"  
  
"After all, I--"  
  
"--in your place to the ball," Riff spouted in a rush, trying to keep the doctor from edging in another word further.  
  
There was silence between the them as Acheson, a bit overwhelmed, simply stared at the two. Eventually, though, he broke out into a wide smile, looking quite like an excited child. "You'll go, then, Riff?"  
  
The butler nodded swiftly.  
  
"Wonderful!" the duke exclaimed, clapping his hands together in glee. "What made you--"  
  
Interrupting Acheson, Jezebel made one last effort, "He can_not_ go to the ball."  
  
Duke Acheson attempted to contort his face into a scowl, but that rarely worked for him, as he asked pointedly, "Why not?"  
  
Grabbing mentally for something - anything - the doctor answered, "...Because...he's a morphine addict!"  
  
"_What_?" Riff said tersely. "I am _not_!"  
  
Responding to the morphine-addict-in-question, Jezebel said quickly, "He is, too. In fact, this morning before he went out he took some without my permission to feed his dangerous addiction!"  
  
"_You_ gave it to me!"  
  
The doctor didn't miss a beat. "Of _course_, how could I refuse someone as dangerous as him? He's very frightening when he wants something."  
  
In complete understanding of the latter, the duke nodded in agreement.   
  
"What the--I am not!" Riff retorted with a slight growl, bordering on anger as his face flushed red.  
  
Duke Acheson simply stated, "You give me the willies."  
  
A moment of silence passed after the brief declaration, in which Riff spent perfecting a death glare.  
  
Taking advantage of the stillness, Jezebel continued, "So you see, my lord, why it is inadvisable to let _that man_ attend such an important social function. Instead, I would like to suggest--"  
  
"Oh, I disagree," Acheson said suddenly with his characteristic grin. "He wouldn't be as stuffy or proper under such influence, and, dare I say, he might actually have _fun_. I say let the morphine addict go to the ball!"  
  
With wide eyes, Riff protested, "But I'm not..."  
  
A disarming smile across his boyish features, Acheson said in mock patronization, "Of course you're not, darling. Now, be sure to take a little morphine before you go so you can have a little fun."  
  
Irked at his lordship's reaction, Jezebel changed his stance suddenly and without much reason, "He's _not_--"  
  
The duke would have none of it, however, as he said with his eternal smile plastered on his face, "Now, now, no need to cover for him, Dr. Disraeli..."  
  
"No really, he's not--"  
  
Without caring much to hear his two 'friends' debate on whether or not he was a morphine addict, Riff simply decided to leave, attending to much more important household matters. What he perceived as their childishness didn't concern him much since the burden of giving his master the final answer was lifted from his shoulders. It was relief, he told himself, nothing more. Not like he was actually _looking forward_ to the ball...  
  
However, with the knowledge that he _was_ attending it, there was a noticeable spring in his step and a gentle lilt to his voice as he hummed a forgotten tune.   
  
  


**End Part Two**

  
Written: October '03 - April '04  
Words: 3842 


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